


Vesper

by invisible_doorknob



Category: Emerald City (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Sex Magic, Smut, Vague AU, magic sex, really there's no point to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9907751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisible_doorknob/pseuds/invisible_doorknob
Summary: Dorothy and Lucas have a ritual to complete.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've only seen four episodes of this show, so this really has nothing to do with canon, it's just an excuse to write awkward porn. Seriously.

It’s hot in the chamber, and Lucas is sweating. 

They BOTH are, but the rivulets trailing down his temple and his bare chest are, Dorothy thinks, much more interesting than the bloom of wetness on her own skin. The throbbing beat of the chanting choir still rings in their ears even though the song wrapped up five minutes ago and they were sealed in this little room, half-underground, right after. 

It’s round, like most of the local buildings, and dim and flickering with the light of the low brazier, and the air is thick with incense; but Dorothy knows that’s not why Lucas is sweating. 

He’s driving the spikes into the prescribed points on the spiral-inlaid floor, grunting slightly with the effort. The sockets are still there, but apparently it’s been some time since they’ve been used. 

Dorothy herself sits quietly, legs crossed, the floor cool under her thighs and her palms. The ritual, West has told her ( _witchual,_ her mind snickers childishly) is an ancient one and will seal her nascent powers as well as raising some kind of protection over Oz. 

Dorothy supposes she should care, but between the cordial they’d both been given to drink and her own anticipation, she doesn’t. Only the pulse of her blood matters...hers, and that of the man now sitting back on his heels. 

The spikes are silver, topped with open rings of metal, and carved with the same symbols that make up the pattern on the floor. They aren’t at the cardinal points, which is what Dorothy had expected; she’s supposed to align HERSELF along the compass instead. 

Lucas glares at them doubtfully, then turns to face her. His eyes are glittering, and Dorothy can’t help looking him over, from his short-cropped head down his scarred chest to the loose trousers that are all he’s still wearing. “Are you SURE about this?” he asks. 

His voice is hoarse and needy, and she loves him that much more for CARING so much. 

“Very sure,” she tells him, and skins out of her dress, tossing it aside. 

His stare is hungry, and his hands fist on his thighs. She’d had to talk him into this; not because of the ritual itself, but because it ran so contrary to his usual desires. 

_I don’t think desire is going to be a problem though._

“All right then,” Lucas mutters, and in the blink of an eye he’s grabbed her up and laid her out on the floor, one quick hand behind her head saving her skull from the stone as he presses her flat. 

She’s used to being the aggressor, but no part of her is reluctant. Dorothy lets her hips lift once, just to urge him on, except she’s not sure she could have stopped the movement, and smirks when Lucas breathes in. He curses under his breath, then pivots her slightly before taking her wrists and guiding her hands above her head to two of the spikes. “Better hang on,” he tells her. 

Dorothy nods, her breath quickening, and hooks her fingers though the rings, tossing her head a little to get a strand of hair out of her eyes. Lucas brushes it away for her, his touch as tender as ever, but then rises to crouch over her. 

He’s huge from this perspective, shadowed and feral in the strange light, but Dorothy isn’t scared. 

Ritual or not, she WANTS. Wants HIM. Him and no other… 

Lucas curses again, low and rough, and drops down onto her. 

Whether it’s magic, desire, or a combination of both, his restraint is gone. A hot mouth attacks Dorothy’s throat, whiskers scraping deliciously along her skin, and hands skim along her shoulders, down her arms, move in to her breasts. Lucas is groaning, a muffled vibration, and Dorothy hears herself whimper as he nips at the hollow of her throat. Calloused fingers close on her breasts and she bucks up, trying not to let go of the rings. 

For all that they haven’t been lovers for very long, Lucas knows her well, and his new aggression is an UNBELIEVABLE turn-on. His mouth moves downward, sucking heat into her skin before he bends low enough to take a nipple between his lips. 

The spike of pleasure makes Dorothy buck underneath him, and Lucas presses her back down, his chest heavy on her hips. He glances up as he suckles, and the ferocious lust in his eyes is almost enough to make her let go to bury her hands in his hair. 

Instead Dorothy grips the rings tighter, gasping as his teeth close just enough to pinch. The tiny surge of pain makes the pleasure sweeter and she moans, spreading her legs so Lucas settles between them. She fumbles for the other spikes with her toes, bracing her feet against the circles, and Lucas mumbles something against her skin and moves to her other breast. 

He licks her nipple stiff, fingers playing up and down her sides, almost frenzied, almost rough. Dorothy pants, wishing she could just TOUCH him, but it’s forbidden; his strokes are drawing lines of fire on her skin, and she wants him to bite her again, but the words can’t seem to make it out of her throat. 

Lucas lifts his head. “Can’t wait,” he gasps, and slides lower still, mouth dragging down the soft skin of her belly and all but leaving sparks in its wake. 

Dorothy whimpers again as his shoulders slide between her thighs, and her toes curl against the cold metal of the spikes. Lucas parts her pussy with his thumbs and presses his mouth against her, and that’s it, she’s done for. Because he’s GOOD at this. 

His tongue is already lapping at her clit, hungry and steady, and she’s so aroused that each slippery stroke is exactly what she needs, the sweet excruciating pleasure driving her higher and higher. The tiny prick from his whiskers, the scrape along her thighs, only makes it better, and all too soon her legs are trembling and her breath is stuttering and she can’t, she can’t, she can’t stand it--

Dorothy SCREAMS. Her orgasm floods over her and drowns her deep. Nothing exists but the pulses of pleasure and the mouth still working at her, drawing them out and on and on. She barely keeps her grip on the spikes as she shudders and pants. 

Lucas doesn’t stop. His licks gentle, becoming long sweeping passes as her orgasm ebbs, but he’s done this before and Dorothy knows that as soon as she’s able for it he’ll drive her up again...and again. He loves doing it; he loves to please her this way, with her hands in his hair and her thighs clamping down on him, showing him what to do. Except this time she can’t, she has to hold on. 

Lucas slides a blunt finger inside her, pressing upward, and Dorothy’s thoughts scatter. He grins against her, she can feel it, and then he presses a little deeper and begins suckling lightly on her clit, a second finger joining the first. 

Dorothy knows her eyes are open, but she is blind; she knows she’s making noises, but she has no idea what they are. All she can sense is the metal against her soles and palms, and the maddening, delicious suction. Her head thrashes back and forth, and suddenly the pulse is back, the beat from the music. She feels it growing in her, twined with the swelling pleasure and the slow slide of Lucas’ fingers in and out. He’s moaning; the vibrations are just added sensation, and Dorothy is lost as she comes again, every nerve lighting up and overloading. 

On some level she’s aware that the room is growing brighter. The magic is taking hold through the ritual. But at the same time she realises that it’s changing HER as well, or perhaps both of them, because this time her orgasm doesn’t fade so much as deepen. It becomes her state of being, this endless sea of sensation; Lucas’s mouth and hands sustaining it, and her, in a Möbius loop of ecstasy. 

Dorothy has no idea how long it goes on. She can’t think anymore, she can only writhe and sob and push back against Lucas. When, at last, he lifts his head and the pleasure sinks back down, Dorothy’s skin is shivering with tiny shocks and her breath is rasping in her throat. 

She pries her eyes open, and loses another breath in wonder, because above them both swirls a huge globe of mist and light. _The ritual...it’s working!_

Lucas is panting too, and his mouth is swollen. He looks as debauched as Dorothy feels, and he’s staring up at the magic in wonder. “Did...you did that?” he asks hoarsely. 

Slowly Dorothy lets go of the spikes, flexing her hands and toes experimentally. They should be cramped, but they’re not. 

“WE did that.” She sits up; automatically Lucas sits back on his heels, still gazing up, and she looks him over. Soaked in sweat, pupils dilated despite the light, a large wet patch on the front of his trousers but the unmistakable bulge of an erection behind the fabric. Dorothy licks her lips. _And now it’s time to finish it._

“Remember what West said?” Lucas’s gaze jerks to hers, and Dorothy grins. “It’s your turn.” 

He blinks at her, still a little dazed. Dorothy rolls into a crouch so she can take his shoulders and push him gently down, his alignment the opposite of what hers had been. 

Lucas obeys, spreading his arms out wide to catch the spikes, and the flex of his arms makes Dorothy’s mouth water with renewed lust. She makes short work of his trousers, tossing them aside without taking her eyes from him. 

He is so BEAUTIFUL. Scarred, yes, and soaked with sweat right now, but gorgeous and HERS. His cock is lying hard against his stomach, though the slick smears on his thighs tell her he’s come at least once already. 

Lucas grips the circles and spreads his legs wide enough to catch the other spikes, and waits, his eyes on Dorothy. They are full of trust, and for an instant she wants to weep. 

She smiles at him instead, and leans forward to touch. 

His skin is hot and soft under her fingertips, his cheeks bristly and his chest firm. Dorothy strokes and pets, ruefully aware that--magic or not--she can’t give him the same experience she’s just had. _But I can give him one hell of a good time._

Lucas is silent, eyes fixed on her face, breathing deeply. His hands are firm on the stakes, but his body yearns towards hers. Feeling wicked, Dorothy pinches his nipple to make him jolt and gasp, and then soothes the sting with her tongue. 

He is salty and delicious, and she kisses her way up to his mouth; he lifts his head to meet hers, and he tastes musky and familiar, his lips eager although his shoulders stay pressed against the floor. Dorothy giggles into his neck, and moves back down...slowly. 

She traces his ribs with fingers and tongue, draws lines along the sensitive crease between his groin and his thigh. Lucas is whispering constant curses by the time Dorothy lifts his cock from his belly, but he does not move. 

She takes her time with him, licking away the drops of fluid from the crown, then drawing his length into her mouth. Lucas is gulping air, eyes flicking between Dorothy and the ceiling, and she savours the moment, because it’s not something he lets her do very often. His hips twitch as she plays with him, and when he starts to groan she knows she can’t take too long. 

Easing down, feeling Lucas’s cock slowly stretch and fill her, Dorothy shudders. Despite the crazy orgasms she’s just had, she’s aroused again, and the hard push of Lucas inside her is a deeper, blunter pleasure. 

She braces her hands on his shoulders and rides him slowly, circling her hips, kissing his throat, doing her best to wring out every drop of pleasure that he can sustain. He’s bent like a bow, feet pressed against the spikes, not letting go--the light is getting brighter still-- 

Dorothy leans backwards, pulling Lucas up to sit. His arms go hard around her, hands gripping her ass as he thrusts up into her, fast and heavy. She closes her eyes and holds on tight, sensation spiraling tighter and tighter… 

Three heartbeats later, the magic and the ecstasy take them both. Lucas roars, and her own breath leaves her in a broken cry. Even through tight-shut lids, the light is too bright to stand, but Dorothy doesn’t care. All that matters is Lucas. 

Until the light fades. 

Dorothy gulps air and forces her eyes halfway open, but then they fly wide with surprise. Above them, where the mist was, is now an image of Oz in its entirety, like a map made three-dimensional. And surrounding the image is a shimmering bubble of translucent color. 

Slowly, it all melts away, and they are left in semi-darkness, with only the low-burning brazier for light. Lucas swallows. “Did--did it work?” he asks. 

“I think...I think so.” Dorothy loosens her grip on his shoulders. Sense is returning, and she takes a quick inventory. She’s absolutely gross with sweat--they both are--but instead of feeling exhausted, she’s just pleasantly languid and not even very sore. Experimentally she tightens her inner muscles. 

Lucas makes a strangled noise. He’s still half-hard inside her, but when she shifts her hips his hands drop to hold her still. “You’re ambitious,” he murmurs. 

Dorothy smiles innocently, and leans forward to kiss him. “Let’s see what magic we can make all on our own,” she says against his mouth. 

Lucas chuckles and settles her more firmly against him. “Enchantress,” he says, and obeys. 

~End~


End file.
